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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768733">a brand new day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero'>ShowMeAHero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>somewhere to begin [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Child Acquisition, Adoption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:48:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Traffic jam outside Haly’s,” Clark tells him. “I tell you, this circus has turned downtown Gotham into a— Well, a circus.”</p><p>“And you’ve won awards for journalism?”</p><p>“Hush,” Clark replies. “Want me to check on things?”</p><p>“Please,” Bruce says.<br/><span class="small"><br/><i>or: the one where bruce and clark are already together when dick's parents are killed, and so they end up adopting him together.</i><br/></span></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>somewhere to begin [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Avidreaders Batman completed faves</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a new world</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>whew okay this has been an idea i had for a little bit now so i'm excited to get it out of my head and into the world, i want to add more bits into this universe but right now i'm just like WHEW the long night has ENDED</p><p>this takes place over like 24 hours so buckle up folks</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Clark wakes up on the first morning in May, he feels like the world is full of unlimited potential.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t always sleep, because he doesn’t strictly need it. However, he enjoys it, and he enjoys even more getting to lay down and relax for a little while. It’s something Lois has suggested he do more frequently. He’s not sure he’ll ever relax quite as much as she'd like, but it’s nice to have a slow morning, now and then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you awake?” Bruce grumbles, miserable, face-down in his pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are other perks, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back to sleep,” Bruce tells him before Clark can even answer. “You’re still tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Clark says, voice soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am,” Bruce says. “Remember how you wanted to seem more human? Humans sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny,” Clark murmurs. He’d woken up facing away from Bruce, Bruce’s arm slung across his waist; he turns over gently so he doesn’t displace his touch. Half of Bruce’s face is still smushed into his pillow, but he turns it up slightly to crack one eye open. He squints at Clark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” Bruce asks, still muffled by his pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Clark allows, running the pad of his thumb under Bruce’s eye. “It’s not really haha-funny. More…” Clark removes his hand and replaces it with his mouth. Bruce smiles, just for a second, under his kiss before he tilts his face up to meet him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More?” Bruce prompts, when they separate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember,” Clark says, and Bruce laughs once, falling back into his pillow. “Get some more sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I intend to,” Bruce mumbles. Clark lingers, just for a moment longer, brushing Bruce’s hair back from his eyes. He sweeps it back once, twice, then kisses his temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark gets up, fast and silent as a ghost, leaving Bruce behind in the bed. He can’t help but watch Bruce shift unconsciously into the warm spot Clark left behind in the bed. It’s enough to make him want to stay, but he still makes himself get dressed. They both have identities to protect, and losing his job at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daily Planet</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he refuses to leave Wayne Manor won’t do either of them any good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you still want to meet tonight?” Bruce asks, as Clark layers his Superman suit underneath his street clothes. He buttons up faster than lightning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” Clark replies. “Like this? Or…?" Clark tugs his collar aside to expose a glimpse of the Superman colors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The latter," Bruce answers, yawning. "I have a meeting that I’m gonna run late in Gotham. Since Haly's Circus kicked off last night, I want to run a longer patrol.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of this is slightly muffled, mumbled into his pillow, but Clark could hear Bruce if he whispered halfway across the world. He can certainly hear him through some feathers across his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta be seen as Bruce Wayne if you wanna spend a whole night out as Batman?” Clark asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it in one,” Bruce replies. Clark tucks his shirt into his pants and buckles his belt before he takes a seat on the edge of Bruce’s bed, right beside his waist. The sheets are slung low, pooled and draped like banners across his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Clark takes advantage of his exposed skin, tracing his fingertips down Bruce’s back. He's lined with scars, fresh bruises, and healing injuries, much to Clark's dismay. He’s given up trying to keep Bruce inside and uninjured. Now, he just helps Alfred patch him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark lets his vision expand, just for a second; it allows him to check on Bruce’s insides. His cracked ribs are nearly completely healed, almost as good as new, not that Bruce has slowed down much in the last few weeks in deference to them. Absently, he runs his thumb up the line of Bruce’s spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done x-raying me?” Bruce asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you caught me,” Clark says, pulling his vision back until it's less than skin-deep. “Your ribs look great, honey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must say that to everyone,” Bruce mumbles into his pillow. Clark laughs, standing so he can pull the covers up and over Bruce’s shoulders. He tucks them in around him, kisses him on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get some rest,” Clark tells him. “You were out late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So were you,” Bruce says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll see you tonight,” Clark continues. “I’ll be around Gotham while you’re in the meeting, keep an eye on things for you. I know the circus makes you antsy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” Bruce yawns, jaw cracking. Clark smooths his hair back one last time before he takes his chin in his hand and turns his face for a kiss. He can feel Bruce already falling asleep; he’s only been in bed for a couple of hours, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep,” Clark says. “I’ll see you tonight, Batman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce pushes at him; Clark lets himself be pushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you tonight,” Bruce tells him. Clark knows it’s true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves Bruce to sleep through the rest of the morning. Alfred offers him coffee on his way out in the travel mug he likes best. Content, humming, Clark leans in and kisses him on the cheek, too, before zipping out the back door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun is still coming up over Gotham, and Clark can’t help but stop in the woods nearby to shuck his street clothes, tucking them into his messenger bag. He slings the strap of his bag across his shoulder to hold securely as he takes up towards the clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Travel mug still in hand, he zips into the sky, towards streaks of pink and orange. When he turns his face right up towards the sun, the skyscrapers disappear from his vision for a moment, and he feels like he’s looking at the endless sky back home in Kansas all over again. The breeze is gentle against his face, still fresh and wet with dew and mist. He can almost feel the high grasses from home underneath his hands as he flies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he tips his face back down, Gotham blends into Metropolis, and the city he calls home unfolds with familiar sun-kissed streets below him. Rays of orange light are still new on the roads; the few people out this early wave at him as he zips by, and he waves back with his free hand,  still humming to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything feels like it’s coming together. People like Superman, even if it’s been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> journey to get to this point. His relationship with Bruce has been sailing along smoothly, even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a rocky road at the beginning. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daily Planet</span>
  </em>
  <span> just gave him a promotion up to staff reporter, even if he can’t show off </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>much and draw too much attention. It almost feels like the kinks are being worked out of everything in his life. The sky feels brighter, the air feels cleaner. Clark feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>lighter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to circle around to change his clothes and show up at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daily Planet</span>
  </em>
  <span> without drawing attention, but he’s used to it by now. He’s got a routine. He’s happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the city outside still sounds like it’s on fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bruce purposefully lets his meeting run late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark was right this morning: the later Bruce Wayne is seen out at night, the less likely people are to consider him as a potential Batman. The sun has already long since set by the time he hits the pavement outside the Wayne Enterprises building downtown and sets his wireless earpiece in his ear. The sky has already shot beyond purple and deepened into black, the night bleeding closer and closer to midnight; he eyes the clear moon hanging above his head as he turns his earpiece on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Bruce says, like he’s starting a casual phone call. Nobody on the street gives him a second look; Bruce Wayne walking around his own buildings in search of his car is at least a weekly occurrence, by this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, B,” Superman’s voice comes through loud and clear on the other end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already out?” Bruce asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it,” Clark replies. “Keeping an eye on the circus for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Bruce says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem,” Clark tells him, and Bruce knows he means it. Clark is unfailingly genuine and endlessly honest — with Bruce, especially. It makes Bruce’s back teeth ache in an exhilarating way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His teeth ache just the same when Clark does those stupid things that show Bruce he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. That he doesn’t just know Batman, or Bruce Wayne, or any of the other acts Bruce has carefully constructed over his life. He gets who Bruce </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> is, the nameless base self that exists at his core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce doesn’t even think he ever told him who he was. Clark just figured it out at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he’s figured Clark out, too. But he’s still surprised all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And nothing much has happened tonight anyways,” Clark continues, easy as breathing. “Ma called. Y’know, turns out Sadie St. Cloud down the street </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to get a divorce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t say,” Bruce replies. “You’re an insatiable gossip, Clark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was always too good for Ted anyways,” Clark replies, a little haughty. It makes Bruce laugh despite himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let me rub off on you,” Bruce says. “I like you nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>nice. This one’s all Ma,” Clark says. He pauses for a moment; Bruce hears the sharp inhale as he holds his breath and listens. Rather than asking what he’s heard, he waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Clark exhales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Traffic jam outside Haly’s,” Clark tells him. “I tell you, this circus has turned downtown Gotham into a— Well, a circus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ve won awards for journalism?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Clark replies. “Want me to check on things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Bruce says. “I’ll take a stroll down that way myself before heading home for the night. See it for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen a lick of your, uh…” Clark trails off. Bruce wonders what colorful phrase Clark will turn before he lands on, “Funny… friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My funny friend,” Bruce repeats dryly. It makes Clark laugh; he can’t help but smile himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you were worried he’d make a, y’know, thematic appearance,” Clark continues, “but I don’t see anything strange. All I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops again. Bruce can’t help but pick up his pace, following the flow of traffic towards Haly’s Circus’ tents on one of the cleaned-up lots downtown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Bruce asks this time. He weaves his way down the sidewalk, careful not to jog and actually draw attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something just happened in the main tent,” Clark replies. “People all—” He stops again, then. Only a beat later, he says, “People are screaming. Not in an excited way. I’m going to go down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m on my way,” Bruce says, and ducks down a side alley to take the short way downtown. He breaks into a sprint, sticking to the dusky side shadows of nighttime in Gotham, keeping his face hidden in the high collar of his dark spring coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The closer Bruce gets to the circus, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> can hear people screaming. He hits the main street again, only to find that some people are running </span>
  <em>
    <span>towards</span>
  </em>
  <span> the tents while a few others run </span>
  <em>
    <span>away.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bruce joins the crowds running towards the lot just in time to see Superman shoot through the arched entryway of the center tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce has to fight to move forwards as the crowd starts getting denser, but people are confused enough that they're easily shoved right out of his way. He gets to the tent in no time at all, pushing in until he’s leaning over the barrier into the center ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the ground, there's one body, crumpled on its side, its neck twisted at a grotesque angle, obviously broken. Beside the woman's body kneels a small child in a matching costume, still alive and apparently unhurt; he's screaming, sobbing, pulling at the woman's costume, pushing at her face. People in the crowd are still looking upwards, and Bruce follows their eyes up to see a second person dangling from a rope caught around their ankle. As Bruce watches, the rope snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce vaults the barrier and runs out towards center stage, as do a couple of other men, but nobody makes it in time. The acrobat smashes into the ground beside the kid and the woman, narrowly missing them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On instinct, Bruce diverts his course away from the corpses. The second acrobat was obviously dead the second he hit the ground, and so Bruce beelines for the kid instead and scoops him up fast, hiding his face in his jacket and hands. The boy is still screaming, clawing at Bruce's shirt, but Bruce locks his arms tight around him and doesn't let him go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's going to be okay," Bruce insists. He looks down into the boy's face, tips his chin up to examine him for injury. Somewhere else in the tent, behind them, a gunshot rings out, and the screams from the crowds start again, louder and sharper than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the chaos, somebody shrieks, "Superman!" and Bruce darts a look up and sees Clark in costume. He's just a flash of bright red and blue at the highest point of the tent before he flies out of sight, diving into the crowd again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another gunshot booms like thunder in the tent. Bruce feels that bullet skim past his shoulder in a burning tear. Clark is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> telling him to wear armor under his clothes, but Bruce hasn't been able to bring himself to do it. Not only would it be far too risky if he, God </span>
  <em>
    <span>forbid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>ever tore the fabric in public and exposed the armor underneath, but, even more, he can't break the illusion for himself. Wearing Bat armor while he's supposed to be Bruce would only fuck with his head. Combining Batman with Bruce Wayne, </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his own head, is something Bruce regularly and actively tries to avoid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he wishes he would have worn something that would make his arm sting even a little less right now. All he can do is hiss in sharply through his teeth to brace himself before he runs for cover, protecting the kid with his arms and his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels Superman land behind him with a thunderous shake of the earth, colliding hard with the stage beneath them. Bruce keeps running until he can dive over the barrier again, tucking and rolling underneath the first row of audience bleachers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terrified boy in his arms starts whimpering again, but Bruce shushes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stay quiet for a second," Bruce whispers to him. "Superman's going to save us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone killed my mommy," the boy says back, quieter than a breath. He's breathing fast, tiny chest heaving under the bright costume he has on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you see what they looked like?" Bruce asks. The boy hesitates, then shakes his head. Bruce prompts, hushed, "What is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone was looking at me in the seats," the boy whispers, hysterical, panicked. "When I was watching Mommy and Daddy. Before they falled. That man keeped just looking at me—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three more gunshots ring out, and then Bruce hears Clark shout at somebody. On instinct, he grabs the boy up again and runs for the back exit he had clocked the second he entered the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pieces of the night, fragments though they are right now, don't look good. People have called Batman the World's Greatest Detective, and Bruce tries not to let it go to his head, but he knows he's a quick thinker. He puts the pieces together. Somebody had these people killed, and their son saw someone who he shouldn't have seen. The gunshots in their direction make a hell of a lot more sense now; they weren't for Bruce, but for the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce acts on instinct and takes the boy with him out the back entrance of the tent. There are rushes and waves of people exiting; Bruce ducks down to cover himself until he's cleared the crowd and made it to a side alley two streets away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going home," Bruce says, low enough that he knows nobody but Clark could hear, if he's even listening. He hears another gunshot and starts running again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's not used to carrying weight on his front like this. The boy latches on to Bruce tight; the longer he runs, he ends up shifting the boy to his back, just to keep going easier. The kid clings there until Bruce gets far enough away to properly slow down and call for his car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In just a minute, Mr. Wayne," Alice tells him. His driver is paid for her discretion and her speed; she gets there within the minute and doesn't so much as glance back at Bruce as he gets in the car. The window is tinted too dark to see through anyways; Bruce made sure every window on each of his cars was, just in case. Everything in his life has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>just in case.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the silence and stillness of the car, Bruce can't help but feel forced to stop and take stock of the situation. Clark is still back at Haly's Circus as Superman, dealing with two dead trapeze artists, possibly a hitman, and a crowd full of people. He can handle it, but Bruce still regrets that he can't go back now. This is Gotham; he should be there. Instead, he had acted on instinct alone to protect the son of those trapeze artists: the little boy that now sits in his lap, clinging tight to his jacket lapels, shaking uncontrollably and staring out the tinted window at the night sky of Gotham.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What just happened?" the kid finally asks Bruce, voice small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce doesn't know how to answer. He doesn't know what he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> say to this boy. Still, all these years later, Bruce remembers with </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> clarity the Gotham cop who had sat him down outside the alley his parents had died in and told him he was an orphan. Whatever he tells this kid, he'll remember it for the rest of his life, and nothing he says is going to make it any easier or hurt any less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There isn't any time left, though. The boy's staring up at him with huge bloodshot eyes, swollen and filled with tears, painfully blue against his flushed face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry," Bruce tells him. "Your parents are gone, and they can't come back. But you're not alone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're making it up," the boy says. Bruce hesitates, then reaches up and pulls the kid in, acting on instinct and hugging him tight in his lap. "Don't—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am so sorry," Bruce tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid pushes at him, says, "Don't lie, take me </span>
  <em>
    <span>back!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're going to be okay," Bruce says. "I'm so sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy starts to argue with him again before a new wave of tears consumes him and he dissolves into Bruce's chest, sobbing building up until he's screaming again. Bruce does what nobody did for him until Alfred finally showed up the night his own parents died: he just holds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the boy's sobbing is finally starting to quiet, his body beginning to slump into Bruce with exhaustion, the car pulls up directly into the secondary garage of Wayne Manor. Alfred has left the lights on for them; Bruce feels strangely glad for it. Alice is the one who unlocks the doors, but she doesn't move to open them for Bruce. It's another part of why he pays his drivers as much as he does. The only person he sees between the car and his home is Alfred, holding the door open into the main house for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I saw Superman on the television at the circus," Alfred tells him. "When Alice radioed in that you had called for her downtown, I worried you had been there." He stops and actually looks down at the tear-stained kid in his arms for the first time. "And… Who is this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce realizes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>belatedly, that he doesn't even know the boy's name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's your name, kid?" Bruce asks. For a long moment, the boy hesitates, staring at Alfred before cutting his eyes back up to Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Richard John Grayson and I'm with Haly's Circus if I'm lost," the boy tells them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, goodness," Alfred says. "The Flying Graysons."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's Mommy and Daddy," the boy says, "and me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce remembers, now, the posters outside Haly's Circus. The advertisements that have been plastered all over town for weeks showed off a number of upcoming performers, including the Flying Graysons: a husband and wife team of acrobats. Bruce remembers reading an article in his reconnaissance on the circus — and any potential Joker connections it may end up having — that mentioned they had a son, though he wrongfully assumed he would be older. Looking at him now, the kid seems impossibly small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a pleasure to meet you, Richard," Alfred tells him. He offers the boy his hand to shake as if greeting one of Bruce's guests. After a moment, Richard takes his hand and shakes, though he won't leave Bruce's hold to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The others call me Dick," Richard says. "It's funner than Richard."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then I shall call you Dick, as well," Alfred says. "Do you have any allergies?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick hesitates, looking to Bruce. Uncertain, Bruce tells him, "They're… Foods you can't eat. Like, peanuts?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick turns back to Alfred and says, "No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you like a hot chocolate?" Alfred asks. Dick nods his head, tightening his grip on Bruce's shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll come with you," Bruce says. The red lights along the ceiling light up once, then twice. Alfred looks to him, and Bruce feels overwhelmed and relieved, all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It looks as though Master Clark has arrived," Alfred says smoothly. He's usually just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clark, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Bruce doesn't actually know what to tell the kid about the whole Clark thing. He realizes, in a flash, that he doesn't know what to do with Dick at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All he wanted to do was protect Dick, but now he’s in the hallway of his own home, holding an orphaned circus performer that looks like he's under the age of five with recently-murdered parents and an apparent hit out on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s gut is telling him one thing, but he doesn't know if he should trust himself or not. He feels close to madness, making wildly impulsive decisions, his mind moving a million miles an hour. If nothing else, he wants to verify if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>do this first, and he snags a tablet from a hall closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He was in danger," Bruce tells Alfred, because it seems like the easiest and clearest explanation to give him that wouldn't completely set Dick off again. He taps into the tablet with one hand, still holding Dick in the other. To Alfred, he says simply, "I wanted to keep him safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand completely," Alfred replies. Bruce is looking up to give him more of an answer when the indicators for the back entrance to the Batcave go off. This time, the lights along the ceiling glow a deep blue and purple before fading off again. Dick stares up, distracted by the colors. Alfred takes advantage of the moment to beckon Bruce backwards to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your arm is bleeding," Dick abruptly tells Bruce, alarmed. He straightens up in Bruce's hold, reaching for the wound on his arm. His fingertips brush the edge of the graze from the gunshot; Bruce flinches, and Dick's hand snaps back, his tiny face going red again, eyes filling with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay," Bruce tells him, but he's already crying by the time they reach the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There, in the midst of the chaos, the back door edges open like it's the Midwest and a neighbor is stopping in at the farmhouse next door for a cup of sugar, rather than Wayne Manor, one of the most heavily guarded homes in the tri-state area, at </span>
  <em>
    <span>night. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of course, only one person is capable of doing that, and Clark is in the doorway just a moment later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Clark says, almost too softly to be heard under Dick's renewed crying. "I saw what happened—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick grabs Bruce's shirt tight in his hands and stares openly at Clark before saying, voice catching, "I saw you there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark's expression flickers. His eyes carefully don't go to Bruce, but he keeps his attention locked on Dick when he says, "I'm sorry, son, I've only just—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're Superman!" Dick exclaims. "You looked right at me!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'm—" Clark starts, panic obvious in every line of his face as this traumatized child lays out his deepest secret for him like it's nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw!"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick yells at him, leaning towards Clark. Bruce has to adjust his grip and pull him back so he doesn't topple to the floor. "You tried to catch my…" His face crumples again, and so does Clark's. Bruce doesn't even have time to move before Clark is in front of him, stroking Dick’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick, surprisingly, shifts to reach for Clark. For the first time since Bruce picked the kid up, he willingly goes to somebody else. Bruce tries not to feel stung by it. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> surprising, after all; anyone would feel safer with Superman than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's going to be okay," Clark tells him. "You're right, you’re right, I am. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied. I just got scared."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick listens to him, staring at his face, nodding, until he admits, "I'm scared, too." His voice cracks again halfway through </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he buries his face in Clark's chest to start sobbing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come sit," Alfred instructs them. Clark, apparently stupefied, obeys without question, following Alfred to sit at the island in the kitchen. Bruce takes a moment before doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go differently. Bruce was going to check on the circus, but, if he had his way, nothing would have been wrong there. Instead of staying there, he would have caught his ride back to Gotham and changed into his Batsuit to join Superman on the rooftops and in the skies. They’d have gotten back to Wayne Manor at five in the morning like they did the night before, and fallen into bed together like a married couple back from a date, rather than what they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce should’ve remembered a lesson he learned a long time ago, which is that nothing will </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> go the way it’s supposed to go in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His arm is bleeding,” Dick tells Clark tearfully, as if that's somehow the most important thing happening right now. Clark takes a seat at the island all the same, but he does look back to Bruce with a concerned tilt to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got grazed,” Bruce explains. “They were firing close to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bruce meets Clark’s eye, he tips his chin in Dick’s direction. Clark’s brow draws together in distress, his hand going to the back of Dick’s head, tilting it in towards himself. His eyes still scan Bruce, looking for the injury. Bruce finally shrugs out of his jacket and offers his arm to Clark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can stitch that for you, Master Bruce,” Alfred says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need,” Bruce tells him. “Clark, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark barely holds back a sigh, but he motions for Bruce to come closer all the same. Dick stops crying long enough to sniffle and watch what they’re doing, curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that I would rather you did this in a sanitary fashion,” Alfred points out, setting a bar of chocolate on a cutting board to chop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> sanitary way,” Bruce says. He shrugs out of his last shirt, leaving him in his tight undershirt, bare arms exposed. The graze isn’t even as bad as Bruce had been expecting, but it’s plenty nasty all the same. Clark makes a face at it, then takes Bruce’s wrist carefully in his big hand, fingers looping around delicately just above his watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Bruce wonders if he shouldn’t have asked Clark to do this in front of the kid. Clark doesn’t give him a chance to take it back, though. His eyes heat up, blazing red. Bruce gets that instinctive, human prickle of fear that he still sometimes gets when Clark does something alien, that shock of warmth and something primal that comes from seeing something so obviously and dangerously inhuman. The feeling fades as quickly as it had come, and Clark cauterizes his wound for him. Bruce hisses through his teeth, tightening his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow!” Dick exclaims. “You really </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Superman!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark rubs the kid’s back with his free hand, his eyes becoming human and blue once more. He still looks concerned, but when Dick tips his head up to see his face properly, he schools his expression into something much lighter. Bruce is forever impressed with Clark's acting abilities, he muses, withdrawing his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark tells Dick, “I really am Superman. But you can’t tell anybody that. It’s my biggest secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is?” Dick asks. “I’d tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I was Superman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that I’m scared of people knowing,” Clark says earnestly. Bruce doesn't feel this is an act, not anymore. “Really scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Dick asks him. Bruce takes the seat beside him. When Clark looks up at him, Bruce motions for him to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose I don’t want anybody I know to get hurt.” Clark looks to Alfred rather than Dick or Bruce. All Bruce can watch is the motion of Clark’s bright eyes, studying Alfred’s hands as he heats milk in a saucepan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick nods seriously. He leans forward over the island, elbows on the counter, and nods once more before his face crumples and he starts crying again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it,” Dick tells him tearfully. Clark looks up to Bruce with concern, but Dick keeps talking, surprisingly enough. “I didn’t want— I didn’t want to— to leave, but—” He stops, then looks up at Clark. “But you’re Superman, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark tells him, “Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t let me die, too,” Dick says. Clark’s little frown comes back, with the divot between his eyebrows. It makes Bruce’s heart sting, but he doesn’t move to act on it. He’s still not sure exactly what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, buddy,” Clark says. “No, no, of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred sets one of Bruce’s own mugs in front of Dick. The kid takes it between his hands and sips immediately. Bruce knows from experience that Alfred doesn’t give children cocoa hot enough to burn themselves on; Dick has no such knowledge. He’s more trusting than he should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred, will you watch Dick for me for a minute?” Bruce asks. Dick’s head snaps around to Bruce, eyes huge and wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” he demands. He starts to climb out of Clark’s lap, but Bruce puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder and steadies him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to talk to Clark in the other room for a minute,” Bruce tells him. “We’ll be right back. I promise.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. all was golden in the sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clark can feel the tension in every line of the kid’s body. He’s holding himself tightly, but he still nods and moves to get out of Clark’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha, here you go,” Clark says, scooping him up and standing. He sets Dick down in the seat he’s left behind before gripping the kid’s thin shoulder. He’s small, but he’s surprisingly strong, and his little costume sparkles with sequins in scarlet, gold, and emerald every time he moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promise?” Dick asks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course,” Bruce replies. His face is stony, but Clark thinks he can still read him well enough. He takes Bruce’s shirt from his hands and turns him from the island.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be back in just a second, son,” Clark tells him. Dick seems to hesitate before he turns towards Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Bruce seems taken aback. Then, he tells him honestly, “Bruce Wayne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s whole face changes, brightening up a bit. Clark’s glad to see him smile for a second. “You’re the king of Gotham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark can’t help but laugh at that. Bruce glances coolly back at him, but that doesn’t make Clark stop smiling in the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in charge of anything,” Bruce tells Dick smoothly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your name’s on the castle,” Dick answers. “Near the circus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Alfred comments. “Your building downtown, Master Bruce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Bruce looks down at Dick, hesitating before he explains, “I’m just in charge of a company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a part of one, too,” Dick tells him. Clark hurts for him. He can’t imagine going through what he’s just gone through, and he’s so impossibly young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be right back,” Clark says. When he turns back to Bruce, the man is already looking at something on a tablet. He looks back down to Dick and winks, just to make him laugh. “I’ll bring his attention back with us, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick smiles a little and takes another longer chug out of his mug of hot chocolate. Clark directs Bruce out of the kitchen with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him out into the hallway. For a moment, Bruce hesitates, but then he tips his head further down the hall. All Clark can do is oblige and follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce leads them to a coat room. Clark looks around as Bruce finds the light for them, bewildered. There are more rooms in the Manor than he’s capable of remembering, it sometimes seems. Vast and untouched in so many ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Clark asks, once Bruce turns back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was about to ask you the same,” Bruce replies. “What happened after I left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure when you left,” Clark tells him. He sits down on the low bench against the wall, propping his elbows on his knees, dropping his face into his hands. Still, in his mind’s eye, he can see those two corpses on the ground underneath the blistering lights inside the circus tent. “Once I got inside, I saw the woman falling to the ground. I tried to rush and catch her but I— I was too late. The boy— Dick, he ran out and he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her. Someone in the crowd was aiming a gun at him, and I went right for him. I wasn’t paying enough attention, and when his— His father fell, I missed him. I didn’t see in time—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault,” Bruce says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t save them,” Clark replies. “Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saved the kid,” Bruce tells him. Clark rubs at his face with his hands, hard, before he lets himself look up at Bruce. “If you’d let them fire on him, he might be dead right now, too. You did what you had to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t afford to start doubting ourselves, Clark,” Bruce says sharply. Clark can’t look at him anymore, tangling his hands together between his knees and looking at them instead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Superman</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t afford to start doubting himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well.” Clark exhales sharply. He asks the floor, “Why’d you bring the kid back here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what else to do,” Bruce tells him. Clark lifts his head, startled. “That’s the truth. I wasn’t thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, now he knows who I am,” Clark points out. “And he knows you know it, too. What’re we gonna do about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t have any other family,” Bruce says. It’s so wholly unexpected that Clark can’t help but look up at him again, frowning. Bruce holds his tablet out to Clark, and he takes it. The display is showing what looks like just a jumble of paperwork to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” Clark asks, skimming. After a moment, he sees Dick’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t have any next of kin,” Bruce tells him. “His parents are dead, and he doesn’t have any other family. If his parents were deliberately killed, and I’m beginning to very strongly suspect they were, then this might have something to do with the Joker, or something to do with the Zucco family’s intent to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait,” Clark says. He recognizes that name. “Zucco. Anthony Zucco?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce frowns. His handsome face looks so severe when he frowns like that. “Yes. Why? What do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the name the fellow with the gun gave me and the Gotham cops," Clark tells him. "He said he was hired to cause an accident with the trapeze artists."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to look into this," Bruce says, with that single-minded determination he gets. "He's been around the city recently, more than I like. Deadly </span>
  <em>
    <span>accidents</span>
  </em>
  <span> like this have a bad habit of following him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what about Dick?" Clark asks. "There's a little boy with no family in the other room, an… an </span>
  <em>
    <span>employer</span>
  </em>
  <span> that let somebody kill his parents, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> he knows that I'm Superman. Do we just… turn him over to a social worker?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Bruce answers quickly. Clark turns his tablet back over to him with a frown. "He's not safe. Somebody tried to kill him tonight and he's a child. He needs protection." Bruce focuses his attention down onto his tablet, tapping quickly. Clark can't steal his attention back. "And, as you so astutely pointed out, he now knows your identity. Allowing him to return to the general populace is too risky."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, what exactly do you propose we do with him?" Clark asks. "We can’t exactly drop him off at a fire station in— in </span>
  <em>
    <span>France, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bruce. It's unethical."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce finally lifts his head to shoot Clark an incredulous look. "Why on Earth would we do something like that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you didn't want to find someone here to take him, I assumed you wanted to hide him somewhere else," Clark points out. "What else would we do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce goes silent. He looks at Clark for a long, hard moment before turning back down to his tablet. In the quiet, Clark realizes with a shock exactly what Bruce had been thinking. What he was implying. In the same beat, Bruce starts to say, "You're ri—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want him to stay with us," Clark cuts him off. Bruce's expression flickers before it shuts down completely, ice cold. Clark wants to groan out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's obviously a terrible idea," Bruce says. "You said it yourself. Doing anything about this— It's not our responsibility. I just happened to be there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark remembers, in Bruce saying this, his own father saying something shockingly similar when he was younger. He'd mentioned that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time to find Clark. Pa had mentioned, too, how glad he was that a million accidents led to him being there when Clark hurtled to the Earth as a baby. Clark has never </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> understood the choice from his parents' point of view, but now he does, abruptly, and with startling clarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He needs us," Clark says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He doesn't need—" Bruce starts, but Clark pushes up from the bench and stands, cutting him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When I had nobody else, my parents, they took me in," Clark says. "They had no idea what they were doing and they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but they did it anyway. And when you lost your parents and you didn't have anyone else, Alfred was there for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What if we're supposed to be that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce doesn't answer for a long, long moment. His chilled face shifts, after a second, and Clark sees the warmth cracking through underneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You believe in things like </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed to </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, Clark?" Bruce asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess I don't know," Clark says. "But I believe in doing the right thing when I can, and helping everyone I can. I don't know what else I believe, but, y'know, one thing I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know for a fact is that there's a little boy in the other room who's got nobody else in the whole world right now except for the two of us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark waits. Bruce exhales slowly, then takes his tablet up again and starts tapping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell are you doing?" Clark asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm making sure Dick isn't alone," Bruce answers simply. He keeps tapping away, then turns his tablet around towards Clark. "Isn't that what you wanted?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark frowns at him for a long moment before turning his attention to the tablet. He slides through the new documents he's looking at and finds his own name on an adoption certificate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bruce, what is this?" Clark asks, hand almost shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not quite hiding an alien baby on a farm in Kansas," Bruce says, almost dryly, "or taking in your dead employer's son as your ward, but I think it'll do for our modern age. I can't exactly move out of Gotham, and, as you accurately pointed out, he has nobody but us. And he needs protection."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark looks back down at the certificate, incredulous. The adoption certificate for Richard John Grayson stares back up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's not the startling part, though. It's seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruce Thomas Wayne</span>
  </em>
  <span> under 'Parent One' and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clark Joseph Kent</span>
  </em>
  <span> under 'Parent Two' that really sets his heart to pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Unless I've overstepped," Bruce says. "In which case, hacking to place these forms in the first place wasn't difficult, so changing them to have only </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> name would be a—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bruce, stop," Clark cuts him off. He strokes his thumb over their names on the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand this is a lot," Bruce says. "But I can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> do this, Clark. I know it's…" He trails off, then looks up at Clark. When Clark turns the tablet over, Bruce takes it, but he doesn't look at it. Just keeps watching Clark. Clark can't help but reach out and cup Bruce's face in his hand, running his thumb under his eye. Bruce still looks exhausted, but bright-eyed and eager. He's going to do this no matter what Clark thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it so happens, Clark thinks it's a wonderful idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When he's older, he can decide what he'd like to do about it all," Bruce says. "His name, and all that. Like you did. But they won't let us keep him if we don't have proof we can have him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clark asks. "I didn't mean you had to take on this responsibility with me if you—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing this," Bruce tells him. Clark watches him carefully, but he can feel the smile breaking out on his own face. "Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want to do this with you," Clark says. Bruce lets Clark lean in and kiss him once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We should get out of town for a few days," Bruce tells him, when Clark's shifting back out of his space. "Lay low. Talk to the kid, work things out. Get rid of Zucco." He motions with the tablet. "I can backdate these for filing. You'll have to ask Lois to publish the news that we adopted a son. Tell her to say she got it from an anonymous source, but make sure she mentions the adoption went through…" He consults his tablet, then taps something. "Three weeks ago. We can put any location for the adoption. Where do you want to go, for now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark doesn't have to consider it for more than a second. "Put Topeka. I'll call Ma. We can fly down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tonight, if we can," Bruce says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you're sure we can do this?" Clark asks, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be sure. He just— He needs to hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Clark," Bruce says. "I spend my spare time wearing a cape and dating an alien. Forging adoption papers is the most down-to-earth thing I'll do this season."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark can't help but smile at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce lays his hand on Clark's chest, tells him, "Call your mother," and so Clark does. As he dials and listens to the line ring, his heart is already starting to race with the desire to go back to the kitchen and check up on Dick. When his mother finally picks up, though, Bruce leaves the coat room, alone, without a word. Clark frowns, but stays put.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Clark, honey, what's wrong?" Ma asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, Ma, I know it's late, but Bruce and I have had a real… Real weird night," he settles on. "I could really use your help. Could we come down tonight?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, honey, you don't even have to ask," Ma tells him. Clark exhales, smiling, but the smile leaves his face in a rush of fear as he thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if I can't be like this for Dick?</span>
  </em>
  <span> and his blood runs cold. "Are you hurt? Is it the both of you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's going to be three of us," Clark tells him. "It'll be easier to explain once we're there. I'm so sorry to drop in like this, Ma, you know I—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Clark, honey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hush," </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ma cuts him off. "You can always come home, no matter what you need. And you be careful flying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Always am, Ma," Clark promises. He hesitates, heart pounding. Bruce returns in his Batsuit, cowl in his gloved hands. "We're going to be coming down the old-fashioned way. Won't be too long."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll keep the lights on," Ma promises. "Love you, honey."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Love you, Ma," Clark says. "Be home soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Clark hangs up, Bruce asks, "Everything all set?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're expecting us," Clark assures him. "If you want to fly like this, we'll need something for Dick, too. He can't breathe up there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce pulls a device off his belt and offers it to Clark in his gloved palm. "I'll put it on the back of his neck and it'll keep him safe on the way down. I can fly alongside you at pace if you can carry him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're sure," Clark says. Bruce slips the device away again. For a moment, he lingers in the coat room doorway, unmoving. His fingers reach up to grip the frame, flexing there, knuckles briefly white before his blue eyes flash up to meet Clark’s. Deep inside Clark’s chest, his heart pounds hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Clark," Bruce finally says. He doesn't add any more, even though it seems that he's about to, for a moment. Clark doesn't need to hear any more than that, though. He didn't even need to hear that much, though he understands Bruce needed to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clark replies. He steps forward to meet Bruce where he's at, taking his hand. "Gonna make an honest man out of me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't push it," Bruce says, but he's smiling, at the very corner of his mouth. Clark kisses that same spot, and it deepens a bit before Bruce withdraws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We should get back to Dick," Clark reminds him. "We said we'd only be a minute."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezes Bruce's hand once before he lets him go. Bruce squeezes his hand back, tight, before doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick is exactly where they left him, sitting up at the kitchen island with a now-empty mug between his little hands. He looks up at them and exclaims, "You came back! Thanks!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, honey," Clark hurries to assure him, on instinct. "We'll always keep our promises."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And we'll always come back," Bruce adds, unexpectedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Scout's honor," Clark swears. Dick frowns up at him, then sits back in his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that mean?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It means," Clark tells him, taking the seat beside Dick, "that I special-promise I will always do what I say I'll do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick nods, considering this, before he just says, "Thanks," again. Clark's not sure how much he understands. The boy looks back towards Bruce and asks, "Why did you change your clothes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce hesitates for a moment before he takes the seat on Dick's other side. Alfred watches Bruce with obvious curiosity; Clark can't help but do the same. Carefully, deliberately, Bruce removes the mug from Dick's hands and sets it on the counter. He takes the cowl in his hands, studying it. Only then does he turn the cowl over to Dick's empty hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know what this is?" Bruce asks. Dick unfolds the cowl and runs his fingers up the pointed ears. It takes a moment before realization dawns on his face. Shocked, he looks back up to Bruce, dark face gone pale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you Batman?" Dick asks, voice soft. Bruce nods. Slowly, Dick looks down at the cowl again. He considers it for a long while before he hugs it to his chest. "Batman and Superman are friends in real life?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Clark tells him, smiling as he reaches out to stroke the baby-soft hairs at the nape of Dick's neck with his thumb. The kid visibly relaxes, slumping down in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know you've had a horrible day," Bruce tells Dick. "And I am… Dick, I'm so sorry for everything you've had to see and do today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mommy's gone," Dick says. Clark rubs his back again; Dick turns his face into his cowl. "And Daddy. I saw— And you said, and— and—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay, son," Clark says, reaching to pick him up, but he's already scrambling for Bruce's lap. Bruce holds him tight, stroking his hair back. He looks up at Clark over the boy's head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Bruce tells him. "I know what you're feeling. I felt it, too. This happened to me." Bruce pulls back, separating them a bit so he can tilt Dick's face up and look into his eyes. "But, if it's okay with you, Clark and I would like to take care of you. We want to adopt you. Do you know what that means?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick just looks up at Bruce for a long moment before he shakes his head. Helpless, Bruce looks to Clark again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It means we want to take care of you like your parents did, now that they can't," Clark tries to say tactfully. Dick nods his head, still trembling, crying. He wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Would that be okay with you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s hands tighten in Bruce’s shirt, shaking all over. Still tearful, he tells Clark, “I want my parents.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if comics batman can make dick his ward <b>and his crime fighting sidekick</b> while still a child then my fanfic bruce wayne can do some hand-wave-y tech bullshit and hack into some mainframe or whatever to adopt dick legally i don't make the rules</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. only child of the universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clark nods, moving to swipe at his face with one hand. Bruce can see the tears already in his eyes; he takes over for him, pulling Dick’s attention up to his own face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick, when I was only a little bit older than you, I lost my parents,” Bruce says. “Sometimes, I still feel like they’re going to come back, but I know they can’t. I know that everything seems overwhelming right now. Today probably just feels like a— a nightmare. And I’m so sorry this is happening to you. But Clark and I— We want to keep you safe, and happy. If you decide you don’t want to stay with us, we’ll figure it out then. But if you want to stay with us, we want that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick stares up at him with huge blue-hazel eyes, taking him in. After a heart-stopping moment, he says, so softly Clark imagines Bruce can barely hear it, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Clark asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dick repeats. He starts to sniffle again, his voice breaking as he says, “I’m—” and starts to cry all over again. Abruptly, Bruce feels overwhelmed, and he looks to Alfred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Clark, I believe we still have some of Master Bruce’s old clothes on the second floor in the closet of the burgundy guest room,” Alfred says easily. “Would you be so kind as to do me the favor of escorting Master Dick upstairs to help him select something more comfortable to wear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark nods, holding his arms out for Bruce to pass Dick over. Part of Bruce hesitates to give him up again, but another part of him is grateful to have him out of his own responsibility for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the two of them are out of the room, Bruce lets his head fall into his arms, folded up on the island countertop. Alfred’s hand lands gently and squarely between his shoulders, rubbing along his spine. Bruce can’t help but sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I doing, Alfred?” Bruce asks him. “It was stupid enough letting </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clark</span>
  </em>
  <span> in here. What am I thinking, involving a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid</span>
  </em>
  <span> in this? What the hell—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Bruce, stop it,” Alfred cuts him off. Bruce frowns, lifting his head to look back at him. All he can do is watch Alfred take the seat beside him, lifting the empty mug Dick left behind in his hands.  “I will tell you something I have never told anybody. Are you ready to hear it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce props his chin up in his hand, nodding. “Sure, Alfred. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When your parents first passed, I seriously doubted my own ability to care for you,” Alfred confesses to him. Bruce frowns, but Alfred continues without hesitation. “Your parents entrusted you to my care, but I did not trust myself even half as much. For several weeks, I strongly considered the likelihood that somebody else may have been a better, more suitable guardian for you. I spent many nights awake wondering if I was doing the right thing, considering the possibility that I was only being selfish by… forcing you to endure my mistakes attempting to parent you, simply because I was unwilling to let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred,” Bruce starts, bewildered, but Alfred raises a single hand, and Bruce falls quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I have learned since,” Alfred explains, “is that everybody feels this way, Master Bruce. This is what it feels like to parent a child.” He sets the mug down and adds, “Both you and Master Dick have been through something horrendously traumatic tonight, but you have this in common. In fact, few will ever be able to understand what he has just been through. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand it.” Alfred takes Bruce’s face in his hands, studying him for a moment. Then, he says, “No matter how many mistakes we may make in our lives, understanding one another is all we can do. In the end, this family we choose for ourselves is what makes it all worth it. Wouldn’t you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce looks back at Alfred for a long while before he can’t take it anymore. He nods and leans in, kissing Alfred on the cheek. In the quiet, he tells him, “You know, I think you did a good job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Master Bruce,” Alfred says. He jostles Bruce’s face playfully before releasing him. “I feel as though my work is never done, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing a laugh, Bruce drops his face into his hands. “I just feel insane. His parents were </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> killed. What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> do I think I’m doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re proving that I didn’t make any mistakes big enough to matter,” Alfred tells him. “You’re proving that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>are a good person, and that you care what happens to that boy, no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce shakes his head, but Alfred puts his hand on Bruce’s shoulder to turn him out. Bruce lets himself be moved, confused, until Alfred pulls him in and hugs him tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Bruce can’t do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he leans into Alfred and holds him tightly in return, allowing himself just a moment to turn his face into Alfred’s shoulder before he releases him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he had been waiting for a cue — and perhaps he was, with his hearing — Clark just then rounds the corner back into the kitchen, Dick in his arms. The kid is in an overly large black sweater and a pair of grey trousers that Bruce recognizes from his own youth. On his head, he wears a man’s hat from another time; it must be his father’s, or Alfred’s, if it belonged to anyone who lived here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We also found a fair number of fedoras, as you can see,” Clark explains, setting Dick back in his seat at the island. He sets his hand at the small of Bruce’s back and leans in to kiss him. “Ready to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’re you going?” Dick asks, already sounding terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We thought we’d bring you to visit my folks for a couple of days,” Clark tells him. “My parents live out in Kansas and they’d just love to meet you, kiddo. It’d be a nice safe place for you to relax for a couple days, get to know us. How’s that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick studies him, almost suspicious. He asks, brow furrowed, “Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kansas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a different state,” Clark says, “in the Midwest. My parents live on a farm. With cows and pigs and goats and things, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching Clark and Dick, in that moment, Bruce sees what Alfred means about it all being worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re we gonna get there?” Dick asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we might fly,” Clark suggests. Dick sits up, looking back at Bruce, bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fly?” Dick asks. Bruce can’t help but smile a little. “With </span>
  <em>
    <span>Superman?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark’s face is pink when Dick turns back to him, but he holds his arms out for Dick to climb into when the boy reaches for him, letting him climb back up onto his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all Bruce can do is stand and pull his cowl on, the heavy Bat flight suit weighing him down as he stands. Its thrusters and oxygen tanks make it heavier than his normal suit by at least twice as much, but it’s worth it to make it down to Kansas in one piece, his lungs and head intact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred leaves the room briefly only to return with the pre-packed emergency bag Bruce keeps for spontaneous travel. As he hands it over, he asks, “When should I expect you home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Within a week,” Bruce promises. “I’ll call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick still seems hesitant as Clark takes him outside, into the darkened woods out back of Wayne Manor. Bruce follows, wondering exactly what the night looks like to Clark. To him, as he pulls the cowl on and secures it, the evening is a green-grey array of technologically-granted night vision. He takes to the sky alongside Clark, listening to Dick’s delighted hoots and shrieks as the wind whips his hair back, and tries to enjoy the flight, at least for the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway across the country, Clark looks over at Bruce, the both of them coasting in the air. He’s holding Dick tight to his side, the little boy laughing with shocked delight. In the light the moon casts across their faces, they almost look like they could be father and son. Bruce knows he’s the one who told Dick this all must feel like a nightmare, but he feels like he’s dreaming all the same, too. None of this feels real; he wonders if it will by morning or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark smiles at him in the moonlight. His eyes are pale, lit up an even brighter blue with the moonlight. His attention is only there for a second before Dick starts laughing again and Clark looks to him, pulling him in tighter, curving to the left. Bruce follows him against the stars and wonders if maybe he can’t figure out a way to work this all out after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There,” Clark points, and guides them in towards Smallville. Bruce has made this flight with him before, but Dick’s obvious delight at the new experience is making it all the more exhilarating for Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the lights off the front porch of the Kents’ farmhouse, Bruce can see Clark’s mother waving up at them. Clark zips down first, disrupting the tall grasses as he settles to a gentle stop on the ground. Bruce’s is less subtle, but he doesn’t think he draws anybody’s attention as he joins Clark and Dick on the packed earth of Smallville.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Kent comes down the steps with her nightgown swept up into her hands, her husband’s boots on her feet as she comes out to join them. It’s easy to notice the instant Clark hits the light, because she responds to seeing Dick by gasping, her hand flying up over her mouth. She doesn’t hesitate to jog the last few steps between them, her hand going to the back of Dick’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Mrs. Kent demands, checking Dick’s face, then Clark’s. She looks past them to Bruce over Clark’s shoulder, asking, “Are any of you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Ma,” Clark assures her. “We’re going to be alright. Just needed a place to come that wasn’t so busy, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, you know Smallville,” Mrs. Kent says. “Life stands still here. Come inside, come along, don’t stand out here, it’s so chilly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Pa?” Clark asks, stomping his boots off in the doorway like anything will come off. Dick pushes to be let down, and decides to walk on his own for the first time just to imitate Clark, stomping off his costume boots. When he looks back expectantly at Bruce, Bruce does the same. He removes his cowl, too, and runs a gloved hand through his hair to loosen it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just in the kitchen,” Mrs. Kent tells them. “Come sit down. Bruce, honey, do you want to change into something more comfortable? And I can see if we have any of Clark’s old pajamas anywhere for you, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick just nods, seeming bewildered by Martha Kent. He reaches up without looking and takes Bruce’s hand in his, wrapping all his fingers around two of Bruce’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Dick, Ma,” Clark introduces them. “Dick, this is my mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Kent says, crouching to offer her hand to Dick. He shakes it, only slightly hesitant, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick’s going to be staying with us,” Clark says. He seems like he might be about to say more, but he doesn’t, and Bruce doesn’t feel the need to elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Superman has a mom?” Dick asks incredulously. For a moment, he seems excited. Mrs. Kent is visibly shocked by his words, but even moreso by the way his face crumples at the reminder of his own mother. He starts crying all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce acts without even thinking, crouching down to scoop Dick up himself and rub his back, telling him, “Hey, shh, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he hears Mrs. Kent whisper to Clark, but he just murmurs something to her and escorts her to the kitchen. Bruce is familiar enough with the home to make his way into the living room and sit with Dick; Clark is back soon enough, kneeling in front of them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, buddy,” Clark says, pulling Dick’s attention up. Dick looks, but Bruce can see the exhaustion and sorrow weighing on him so heavily. The sooner they get him sleeping, the better. “Want to get into pajamas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick nods, still crying, and lets Clark take him out of Bruce’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Clark tells Bruce. “You can change, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce obliges, pushing himself to his feet in his heavy armor, following Clark up the creaking stairs to the second floor. Clark’s childhood bedroom is still half-boy’s room, though it has morphed into half a guest room in his absence, as well. He opens the dresser like he’s never left, pulling out a handful of flannel fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we go,” Clark says. “This should fit just fine, son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce moves to pull his own clothes from his bag, but Clark surfaces with pajamas for Bruce, too. Without thinking, Bruce takes them. He has pajamas of his own in the bag, he knows he does, but he’d rather be wearing Clark’s clothes by far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they rejoin Clark’s parents in their kitchen, all three of them are in Clark’s pajamas from varied points in his life. Mrs. Kent has set out five small cups and five plates with a cookie each on the table. Not for the first time, Bruce reflects on the sitcom-parenting of the Kents. This time, he wonders if that parenting might’ve rubbed off on Clark, if they might actually be able to pull this off between the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was an accident tonight,” Clark explains to his parents, in low tones by the sink, while Bruce gives Dick his cookie and warm milk at the table. He can hear Clark murmuring through his recap of tonight’s events, leaving out the less savory parts on purpose. By the end of it, Mrs. Kent has to leave the room for a moment to gather herself, and Mr. Kent is saying something to Clark that Bruce can’t quite hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce is distracted from watching Clark explain things to his parents by the feel of Dick’s head hitting his shoulder. The kid snaps back upright, jolting awake again, but it’s obvious he dozed off in Bruce’s lap, sitting up against his chest. As Bruce watches him, he slumps again; his eyes drift shut as he yawns and turns himself into Bruce’s chest again, dropping his head against his shoulder. Hesitant, Bruce reaches up and gently shifts Dick so he’s more comfortable. He lets him fall into the cradle of his arms, readjusting his position until he’s holding him loose against his front, Dick turning into him and curling up in his lap to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Clark says, closer than Bruce was expecting him to be. His hand lands on Bruce’s shoulder, and he suggests, “Wanna get some sleep? You can sleep in my old room with him, I’ll take the couch downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clark—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay,” Clark says. He helps Bruce stand without jostling Dick. “Let’s get you two settled in, you don’t need to stay up any later than this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let us know if you need anything, son,” Clark’s father says. Clark doesn’t say anything; belatedly, Bruce realizes Mr. Kent was talking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Bruce says, feeling too late to be polite. Mrs. Kent returns to the kitchen, face still a bit red, and brings a stack of blankets to Clark’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Clark tells them. “Thank you both again. You don’t know how much it means to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Clark,” Mr. Kent insists. Mrs. Kent kisses Clark on the cheek, then Bruce, then Dick, too, and he barely stirs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce carries Dick back to Clark’s childhood bedroom without waking him, but when he puts the boy down in Clark’s bed, his eyes drift open, a sleepy frown coming onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks confused, for a moment, before he looks over his shoulder at Clark on the other side of his bed. Panicked, Dick says, “Please don’t go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just going to—” Clark starts, but Dick sits up, fists gripping the blankets underneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick insists. Clark sits on the edge of the bed, letting Dick slot himself into his side, stroking his hair back to comfort him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll sleep on the floor right next to you,” Clark promises. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sleep right here beside you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick settles again, letting Clark lay him against the pillows. He allows Bruce to pull the blankets up around his shoulders while Clark makes their beds on the floor with pillows and blankets, lining cushions to give Bruce a more comfortable place to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that man going to know where to find me?” Dick asks quietly as Clark removes his glasses and sets them on his small nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bruce answers firmly. Clark turns the overhead light off, but a small blue night light glows in the corner still, casting them all in a faded nighttime glow. “Nobody’s going to know where to find you, and nobody’s going to hurt you. I’m going to make sure of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear the rustle as Dick nods, then settles. Bruce settles, too, laying down on the floor, trying to force his body to relax after the hellish night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he hears Clark whisper, after a few minutes in the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bruce turns his head, he can look clear across the floor under the bed and see Clark looking back at him, blue eyes shockingly bright in the darkness. In the glow of the night light, Bruce can see Clark shift. He reaches his hand out to Bruce under the bed, fingers flexing. Bruce turns onto his side and reaches out to tangle their hands together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you,” Clark tells him softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“World’s finest,” Bruce replies. Clark smiles a bit, his shoulders loosening as he turns his face into his pillow for a moment. He looks back up at Bruce brighter than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get some sleep,” Clark says. “You need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce wants to argue, but Clark is right. He squeezes Clark’s hand, but doesn’t let go of him. Instead, he just shuts his eyes and tries to make himself relax into the pillows on Clark’s childhood bedroom floor, listening to Dick’s even breaths above him as the boy sleeps.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. it's not perfect but it's mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Clark wakes up on the second morning in May, he feels that he is truly not alone in this world.</p><p>He wakes up to Dick’s hand on his face, pushing at his cheek until Clark blinks up at him. His hand is still tangled with Bruce’s, fingers tingling a bit from the lack of circulation. Clark gingerly extracts his fingers so he can sit up eye-level with Dick.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Clark asks in a whisper. It’s still dark outside, not even dawn yet, but Dick seems wide awake, staring at Clark with a furrowed brow and a red face.</p><p>“I had a bad dream,” Dick tells him, voice shaking, small. Clark stands and holds his arms out, letting Dick climb up into them.</p><p>When Clark was young, his body realized before his parents did that he needed less sleep than other kids. While his parents would need their full eight hours, if they could manage it, Clark hardly needed any. His kid-mind would stay up, unable to exhaust itself like any other child’s, buzzing with anticipation and activity. After too many nights where Clark would accidentally wake up the whole household, Pa started encouraging Clark to go out in the mornings and tend to the animals if he couldn’t sleep.</p><p>This morning, before the sun has begun to consider coming up, Clark takes Dick out to the barn outside his parents’ old farmhouse. Slumbering cows barely lift their heads to glance at them; a few friendly barn cats take to following them as Clark makes his way to the back of the stable, where the horses rest.</p><p>Dick is quiet until they get there, when he softly asks Clark, “Can I pet one?”</p><p>“Sure,” Clark says. He walks Dick to the horse, shows him how he pets her nose. “You just have to be gentle. Be nice to her, and she’ll be nice to you.”</p><p>“Right,” Dick says. Still, he clings to Clark, but he strokes the horse’s nose all the same. </p><p>Clark lets them enjoy the early morning stillness, the silence. He doesn’t ask Dick questions or prompt him to talk. Instead, he waits, watching Dick scratch the white diamond of fur between the horse’s eyes.</p><p>After a while, Dick asks, “Am I ever gonna see my parents again?”</p><p>Clark can’t help but exhale, surprised. He doesn’t want to lie, but the kid’s so young. He doesn’t want to upset him, either. Ultimately, he lands on a hesitant, slow, “Just because people die doesn’t mean they’re ever really gone. I was adopted by Ma and Pa, but I had parents before them, too. I lost them just like you lost yours. And... And I know I’m never going to see my parents again, but I also know that I carry them with me always, because I’m their son.” He motions to his own chest with the hand not holding Dick up and tells him, “I carry them with me. I do things I know they would want me to do, and they’re never really gone, even though I can’t see them anymore. I can still feel like they’re there.”</p><p>Dick nods, looking from Clark to the horse again.</p><p>“So,” Dick says. “I’m not.”</p><p>Clark turns his face into Dick’s, pressing his forehead to the boy’s temple for a moment before he withdraws. He tells him, “No. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Dick nods again. He keeps watching the horse, his hand still petting her steadily, but his chin wobbles and he starts crying quietly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Clark sits down right there in the straw and the dirt, pulling Dick into his lap, letting him sob into Clark’s chest. He pulls in huge fists of Clark’s pajama shirt, yanking at him as he cries, but Clark just sits, rubs his back, tells him it’s going to be okay, and waits.</p><p>It’s not long before the barn door creaks open and Bruce appears there. He doesn’t wait for long once he spots Clark and Dick, making his careful way over to them so he can sit down on the ground beside them, heedless of the dirt.</p><p>When Dick sees Bruce, he throws himself into his lap, crawling in closer until he can throw his arms around Bruce’s neck, clinging tight to him. Clark leans into Bruce’s side, allowing Bruce to shift his arm around Clark’s shoulders.</p><p>“It’s going to be okay,” Bruce tells them both. Clark nods.</p><p>“It is,” Clark agrees. Dick quiets, falling into the space between them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can (and should!) comment to chat with me, or talk with me about this fic, on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/nicole__mello">@nicole__mello</a> and/or on Tumblr at <a href="http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/">andillwriteyouatragedy</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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